


breaking the ice

by loveleee



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Blind Date, F/M, Fluff, Snow Storm, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, it's just a winter tropefest up in here, set in DC for the sole reason that i've lived through multiple snowmageddons here, stranded by inclement weather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27847754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveleee/pseuds/loveleee
Summary: The first thing Betty thinks, when she sees him hovering by the hostess stand with his yellow umbrella in hand, is that she can’t believe he actually came all the way down here.The second is that he’s even cuter in person than he was in the photo on Archie’s phone.(Betty, Jughead, a blind date, a snowstorm, and oh yeah - there was only one bed. AU.)
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 72
Kudos: 187
Collections: 8th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees





	breaking the ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theheavycrown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheavycrown/gifts).



> @theheavycrown sent me a trope prompt of "blind date + stranded due to inclement weather" a VERY long time ago...like, probably over 2 years ago? anyway, I have a doc with all my unfinished prompts, I was looking through it this weekend, this one caught my eye, and here we are 3,000 words later.

The first thing Betty thinks, when she sees him hovering by the hostess stand with his yellow umbrella in hand, is that she can’t believe he actually came all the way down here.

The second is that he’s even cuter in person than he was in the photo on Archie’s phone.

She sits up straight in her seat and waves her hand, hoping she’ll catch his eye without having to shout his (rather strange) name across the restaurant. It works; he lifts his chin in recognition, and weaves his way past the other crowded bistro tables to reach her.

“Hi. Betty? Oh good,” he says, sounding relieved when she nods.

She smiles. “Were you worried it was some other random woman waving you down?”

“Stranger things have happened.” He holds out his hand, and she shakes it. It’s warm, despite the weather outside, and the fact that he hadn’t appeared to be wearing gloves in it. “I’m Jughead.”

Betty sips at her water as Jughead gets situated, shaking off the light layer of snow that’s accumulated on the sleeves of his coat before he hangs it over the back of his chair. Though his hat is also crusted with snowflakes, it remains on his head.

“Thank you for coming,” she says, a mild blush coloring her cheeks as she thinks about how long it probably took him to get here. “I wouldn’t have blamed you for canceling. I know it’s a little far. And in the snow, too.”

After her last blind date with one of Archie’s college friends had left her stranded in northern Virginia, two miles from the metro and clutching a dead phone in her hand, Betty had insisted this one take place closer to home. As in, literally next door to her apartment building on 14th Street.

She hadn’t realized at the time that he was setting her up with a man who lived all the way out in Baltimore.

Jughead studies her for a moment, seeming to come to a decision. “I’m going to level with you, Betty, because you seem like a nice person,” he says. “When I saw the forecast for snow, I tried to back out. But Archie was insistent that I come, to the point that he offered to pay for my train ticket _and_ my dinner. As a penniless grad student, it was too tempting to resist.”

He taps her menu with his index finger. “What I’m trying to say is, order whatever you want, because this is all going on Archie’s tab.”

Betty bites her lower lip, trying to contain her grin. Jughead smiles back – _he has a nice smile_ , she thinks, as her stomach does a little flip.

She opens her menu. “How do you feel about seafood?”

Jughead feels great about seafood.

And as it turns out – Betty feels great about Jughead.

Over a bottle of Chenin Blanc and a grandiose shellfish platter for two, she learns that he’s in Baltimore to earn his MFA in creative writing at Johns Hopkins. He’s witty, well-read, and – once she gets him talking about his lifelong friendship with Archie – surprisingly warm. He asks Betty questions about her job as a reporter, and seems genuinely interested in the answers.

The ability to hold a conversation is something Betty would have dismissed as a baseline blind date requirement if you’d asked her a year ago. But the Betty of a year ago had not yet encountered Archie’s kickball teammate who had monologued for nearly an hour about the congressional hearing he’d been prepping for all week, or his former coworker who had asked her if they could sit at the bar so he could hear the Nats game better.

It figures that the first of Archie’s set-ups whom she actually likes would live in an entirely different city.

The fact that she’s pleasantly surprised by his interest in her work seems to confuse him. “Who wouldn’t want to hear about working at the Post? It’s an institution. There’s even a terrible Oscar-bait movie about it.”

Betty shrugs. “I don’t know, I mean – most people aren’t exactly fascinated by the transportation beat.”

Jughead tilts his head and taps the side of his nose – an odd gesture, but it brings a goofy smile to her face. “Anything can be fascinating if you come at it from the right angle.”

She’s disappointed when their server drops the check off some time later. “Rude,” she murmurs as Jughead slides the check towards his side of the table. “We didn’t even ask for it yet.”

Jughead takes a moment to survey the room, and nods towards the bar, where the lone bartender is wiping out a wine glass. “I think they may be kicking us out. Which is…fair.”

Betty follows his gaze, and realizes with a shock that he’s right: they’re the only customers left in the restaurant. “Shit. I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking – does the MARC even run this late?”

“No, but I can catch Amtrak. It’s on the hour. And Archie’s paying.” His smile fades as he taps at the screen of his phone. “Except for tonight. Fuck. They’re canceling all the trains until morning.” He lets out a long breath. “Uber it is, I guess.”

Betty shakes her head. “The surge pricing’s got to be crazy right now. And if the trains aren’t even running, it can’t be safe to drive.”

Jughead looks pained. “I’m not sure if you caught this part earlier, Betty, but I’m not exactly in a position to be paying for a hotel room in downtown DC. As much as I like to joke about it, I’m not sure Archie is, either.”

“You can stay with me.” She says it before she can second-guess herself. What’s the harm, really? He’s Archie’s childhood friend, so it’s not like he’s going to murder her in her sleep.

And basic human kindness aside, well – she likes him.

Jughead blinks rapidly. “That’s very generous, but –”

Betty leans across the table, stilling his words with a finger pressed to his lips. It’s possible she’s had a bit more to drink than she normally would on a Thursday night.

“I’m just next door,” she assures him. “You won’t even have to button up your coat.”

Her cat, Caramel, greets them at the door, purring loudly as she winds between Betty’s legs.

“Oh.” Betty gasps in realization. “You’re not allergic to cats, are you?”

“Only emotionally.” Jughead squats down beside Caramel, holding out his hand for her to sniff. “No, I’m kidding. I like cats. I’m just more of a dog person. I have a dog, actually – his name’s Hot Dog.”

Betty snorts and hangs her coat up in the closet, holding out a hand for his as well. “Is he going to be okay overnight?”

“Oh yeah, he’s fine. I live with my sister. Which reminds me.” He tugs his phone out of his back pocket. “I should let her know I’m not coming home tonight.”

Betty smiles to herself as she slips his coat onto a hanger. “She’ll think your date’s going really well.”

Jughead shrugs. “She can look out the window and take a good guess at what happened. She knows I’m not looking to date someone out of town.” He freezes. “Not that this wasn’t – I mean, you’re very –”

Betty laughs it off, waving a hand of dismissal even as her heart tumbles down into her stomach. Realistically, she’s not seeking to date someone out of town, either.

But for the right person? She’d consider it.

“No worries, I get it. I mean, same.” She gestures towards the sofa. “Sit. I’ll find some clothes for you to sleep in.”

Caramel is curled up in Jughead’s lap when she returns from her bedroom with an oversized t-shirt and an old, stretched-out pair of pajama pants she thinks will fit him.

“She likes you.” Betty smiles, placing the clothes before him on the coffee table, along with a spare toothbrush she’d found in the back of a drawer, still in its package.

“I like her, too.” Jughead scratches Caramel behind the ears. “Thanks again for this, Betty, seriously. I know it’s a work night.”

Betty crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s really no big deal. I wasn’t going to leave you to freeze out on the streets. And OPM says we’re teleworking tomorrow, anyway, so I get to sleep in.”

She pulls a throw blanket from the back of her armchair and drops it on the sofa beside him. “I hope you’ll be warm enough.”

Jughead lifts Caramel gently from his lap before reaching for the sleep clothes. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. I run hot.”

Betty waits in her room and scrolls through Instagram for a bit, giving Jughead some privacy to get changed and settled onto the couch. When the crack beneath her door goes dark, she switches on the flashlight on her phone and tiptoes out into the living room, heading for the kitchen to get her glass of water before bedtime.

She stops short at the sight of Jughead curled up on the sofa.

“Oh my god,” she says. “That is _way_ too small for you.”

It hadn’t really occurred to her that her “apartment-sized” sofa could more accurately be described as “child-sized” to a guy like Jughead, who almost definitely cleared six feet. His legs are bent at the knees, practically falling off the edge of the cushions.

“No, it’s fine,” Jughead insists from beneath her fuzzy blue blanket. “I usually sleep like this anyway.”

“That _cannot_ be comfortable.” Betty tugs on the edge of the blanket. “And it’s way colder out here than I thought. Come on, we can share. I have a big bed.”

Jughead protests right up until he’s tucked underneath the cozy flannel sheets she always switches to in winter. “Okay, this is way better than the couch,” he admits. “Thank you. Again.”

“No problem.”

“Seriously, I –” He sighs. “I hate that I’m imposing on you like this. I knew it was snowing, I – I shouldn’t have come all the way out here.”

“It’s fine,” Betty replies shortly. She knows what he’s trying to say, and she shouldn’t take it personally – but she doesn’t need to hear for the millionth time that Jughead considers his journey south decidedly not worth the effort.

Betty presses the button on her bedside lamp to start the dimmer, and settles onto her back. Unfortunately for Jughead, drinking alcohol before bedtime tends to make her snore. But she’s found that sleeping on her back helps alleviate the noise somewhat. 

Beside her, Jughead is also laying on his back, and she can tell that his body is stretched out stiff as a board beneath the sheets. They must look ridiculous like this, she thinks, like – well, like two strangers being forced to share a bed for the night.

“We should send Archie a selfie,” she says. “He won’t know what to do with it.”

Jughead exhales a soft chuckle. “He’ll think he’s such a good matchmaker.”

“Definitely.” Betty giggles. “It only took him…eight tries.”

“You’ve gone on _eight_ dates set up by Archie?”

She shifts onto her side to face him, slipping her hand between her cheek and the pillow, and nods. Her breath catches in her throat for a moment – from this angle, he’s closer than she’d thought.

His eyes are very blue, and very pretty.

“He’s trying _really_ hard to make sure I don’t die alone with Caramel the Fourth as my only companion. But he has yet to produce a love connection.”

Jughead’s mouth quirks up at the side. “If he’s got to try that hard for someone like you, he’s even worse at this than I thought.”

Something about the way he says it makes her face warm. She rolls onto her back again, looking up at the ceiling. “I shouldn’t make fun. Honestly, it’s sweet of him. I went through a bad breakup a little over a year ago and he’s been a really supportive friend.”

“He’s always been a good friend.” Jughead clears his throat. “So is that why you have a queen-sized bed for one person?”

“Yep. My ex left me the apartment, the bed, and the cat.”

“He must be an idiot.”

Betty snorts. “Yeah, Caramel’s pretty great.”

“Not just Caramel.” Jughead pauses. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, lower than it’s been. “Betty. That thing I said earlier – about, uh, not wanting to date someone outside the city –”

The bedside lamp has dimmed more than halfway to dark, and thank goodness for that. She’s certain her cheeks would look fire engine red in the light of day. “You don’t have to explain. I know it’s nothing personal.” Betty tugs the comforter up beneath her chin. “But um, it’s pretty late, so, I’m going to go to sleep now, okay? Goodnight, Jughead.”

Another pause, and then the slight tension of the sheets pulling as he turns away onto his side.

“Goodnight, Betty.”

When Betty wakes up, there is a foot touching her ankle.

The foot is not her own foot.

It takes her the space of a few quick, panicky heartbeats to remember: Jughead. He’s on the other side of the bed, curled towards her, a few inches between them, except for the spot where his chilly toes are pressed against her bare ankle.

She cranes her head back to look at her wake-up lamp. It’s just beginning to glow with a warm, orangey light in preparation for her alarm, which she’d set for an hour later than usual.

Closing her eyes, she thinks about how the morning will proceed. If the roads are cleared, it’s simple: Jughead will get dressed and leave.

If they’re not, she’ll have to serve him breakfast. She runs through the contents of her fridge in her head; she has the ingredients for pancakes and scrambled eggs. But cooking him breakfast feels too much like a morning-after thing, like something she’d do out of affection for someone she more-than-slept with.

There’s a box of Cheerios in the cupboard, and she just bought milk the other day. They can have that.

Then…then they wait, she supposes, until the streets are passable and the trains start running out of Union Station again. Hopefully that happens sooner rather than later. She does have to work today, and her apartment is too small for Jughead to watch tv or do anything, really, without disturbing her, except maybe scroll through his phone with headphones on. 

Betty sits up and presses the off button on her alarm – she’s awake, and there’s no point in waking Jughead before he needs to be up – but as she swings her legs over the side of the bed, she hears him stir and yawn behind her.

He blinks up at her, bleary-eyed and a little confused. “Hey, um…”

She sees his hands move beneath the comforter – probably to check that he is, in fact, fully dressed – and she scratches at her cheek, hiding her smile with her hand. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” Jughead props himself up on one elbow, straining to see out the window. “Is it still snowing?”

Wrapping her arms around her middle, Betty pads across the room and looks out onto the street. Her heart sinks. Tiny, icy flecks continue to drift down from the sky, no more than a flurry, but there appears to be nearly two feet of snow on the ground from last night’s storm. A smattering of tire tracks are visible in the snow on the street, but there’s no snow plow in sight.

“Not really, but I don’t think you’re going anywhere anytime soon.”

When she turns back to the bed, Jughead is upright, sitting where she’d been a moment ago on the edge of the mattress. For a guy who’s stranded nearly 50 miles from home in a near-stranger’s apartment, he seems fairly relaxed.

“Figures.” He runs a hand through his hair. His thick, wavy, messy dark hair. She had not had the chance to admire it the night before – weirdly, he hadn’t removed his hat until he’d climbed into bed – but she finds herself admiring it now.

Blushing, she busies herself in her closet, pulling out a hoodie for herself and her oversized fleece robe for him. “This is probably the warmest thing that fits you,” she tells him apologetically.

His smile is crooked as he slips his arms through the sleeves, and it sends a fresh rush of butterflies tumbling through her stomach. _Stop it, stop it, stop_ , she chants in her head. _He’s stuck here, not here because he **wants** to be._

“You want coffee?” She leads him into the kitchen, where he hovers in the doorway, tugging at the belt of the robe looped around his waist.

“Please.”

She tries not to feel awkward as she grinds the coffee beans and tips them into the machine while he watches, only moving when she gestures to the fridge behind him so he’ll step out of the way.

Jughead clears his throat as she opens the door and reaches for a bottle of milk. “I, uh. There was something I wanted to say last night, and…I didn’t really get to say it.”

Betty pulls two bowls from the cabinet over the sink, then two spoons from the drawer beside it. “Oh?”

He takes a step closer. Betty opens the cupboard, scanning the shelves briefly until she lands on the box of Cheerios – still unopened, thankfully, because it’s at least three months old.

“I think I gave you the impression that I was just out here for a free meal.” Jughead shifts on his feet, tucking his hands into the pockets of the robe. “And that’s not the case. I came out in a snowstorm because – well, because I really wanted to meet this beautiful, smart woman who Archie kept insisting was worth the 45-minute train ride. I just…didn’t really want to admit that. I mean, it’s kind of embarrassing. I thought you might think I’m desperate.”

Heart pounding, Betty meets his eyes. They’re warm and bright and in them, she thinks she sees a question.

“But Archie was right.” Jughead shrugs a little. “It was worth it.”

Betty puts the Cheerios back on the shelf.

“Jughead,” she says. “How do you feel about pancakes?”

**Author's Note:**

> Let's play a game: First person to guess what restaurant they're at gets a follow-up drabble of their choice? ;)
> 
> Also, in fairness to Archie, I do know people who have done the Baltimore-DC dating thing. But they're always miserable until one of them moves!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this, and if you did, that you'll leave a comment or a kudos! Happy holidays, friends! <3 <3 <3


End file.
